


Lost in Memories

by RebaK1tten



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Background Relationships, De-Aged Peter, Erica Reyes/Vernon Boyd - Freeform, Fairy attack!, Fluff and Angst, Gramma's casual racism, I call the Sheriff Andrew, M/M, Racist Language, Scott/Allison/Kira, Stiles takes care of Peter, care taking, sheriff/melissa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-28
Updated: 2016-07-28
Packaged: 2018-07-27 05:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7605316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebaK1tten/pseuds/RebaK1tten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fairies turn Peter into a little boy and Stiles is elected to take care of him. </p>
<p>Stiles approaches Peter, squatting down to look him in the eye. “Hey, Peter. Well, you got yourself in a pickle, didn’t you? That’s because you’re an asshole, and I don’t know what you said to them, but lessons learned is you shouldn’t be an asshole to fairies.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lost in Memories

The little boy looks around at the group standing in a circle around him as they all watch the three lights fly off into the woods. He sniffs loudly, lip quivering. And suddenly he wails, making the werewolves cringe and step back.

“Oh my god, that’s even killing me!” Stiles sticks his fingers in his ear and elbows Scott forward, saying, “You’re the true alpha, do something!”

The alpha shakes his head, stepping backwards from the small, crying child and points to Derek. “You’re his uncle -- no, he’s your uncle -- he’s your family, pick him up or something!”

Derek crosses his arms over his chest and shakes his head, while Cora steps behind Derek. “I really can’t see that happening. Malia?”

Malia steps closer to Kira, shaking her head. “Why are you looking at me? I don’t know anything about kids. Or fairies. Or curses.”

“He’s your father,” Kira says gently, rubbing a hand on Malia’s arm. “Maybe he’d be happier if you…held him?”

The werecoyote snorts and says, “He didn’t hold me when I was that age.”

“Oh for god’s sake,” Allison huffs and kneels in front of Peter, who has stopped crying and is now making sad, little choking noises as he rubs his nose. “Hi, Peter, come here, honey, it’s okay.”

Peter looks at her and lunges forward, mouth full of sharp little fangs, claws out and swinging towards the girl.

“Holy crap!” Scott yells and pulls Allison away. “Are you okay, did he hurt you?”

“I’m fine, Scott,” she says, looking over his shoulder to where Peter’s staring at her, still snarling. His ‘attack’ did pull him out of his jeans, which are in a pile with his socks and shoes, t-shirt floating around his ankles like a v-necked dress.

“She’s fine, Scott,” Isaac repeats, putting an arm around Allison. “You’re okay, aren’t you?” he whispers to her and she nods, tucking her head into his shoulder.

“You’re such a loser,” Stiles says cheerfully to his friend and approaches Peter, squatting down to look him in the eye. “Hey, Peter. Well, you got yourself in a pickle, didn’t you? That’s because you’re an asshole, and I don’t know what you said to them, but lessons learned is you shouldn’t be an asshole to fairies.” He stands and holds out a hand, saying, “Thanks for stopping the screaming and let’s figure out what to do with you until we can find out how to get you back.”

“Up,” Peter demands, holding his arms up towards Stiles. “Up.”

“I guess expecting you to say ‘please’ is pointless,” Stiles says, picking Peter up by his armpits and settling him on his hip.  “Okay, this is about the weirdest thing ever.”

Peter pushes his face into Stiles’ neck and sniffs again, one hand rubbing his eyes.

“It’s both weird and just about the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. You make a good daddy, Stiles,” Erica says, with what has to be called an evil grin.

“Yeah, if he calls me daddy, it’s game over,” Stiles answers. “How old do you think he is?”

“Three? Four? Something like that,” Derek says. “Since he’s good with you, how about you keep an eye on him and we’ll try to figure out how to get the fairies to reverse the spell.”

“Why me?” Stiles squeaks, looking around the group. “I just wanted him to stop threatening Allison and to stop crying.”

There’s some snorting and eye rolling and Boyd says, “Because apparently he trusts you. And you’re already used to him in your bed, so…”

Stiles flushes red and opens his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out other than another squeak.

“You didn’t think it was a secret, did you?” Malia asks, raising an eyebrow. “You both stink of each other, which is unpleasant and incredibly creepy. I hope you appreciate how I haven’t mentioned that you’re sleeping with my father. My father, Stiles.  We break up and now you’re sleeping with my father.”

Peter looks at her and then buries his face back in Stiles’ neck, and whispers, “Go home.”

“You want to go home? To your home?” Stiles asks, thankful that Peter’s sudden comment means he doesn’t need to address his ex. “We can do that. Or maybe stop at my house first, so I can let my dad know where I’ll be.”

“I feel so sorry for your father,” Derek says, shaking his head. “Adult Peter and now Peter as a child. The man has the patience of a saint.”

“I guess we’ll see if that’s true,” Stiles answers and makes sure Peter’s got a good grip around his neck. “Okay, let’s go talk to Dad. And you guys figure out how to fix this!”

 

Andrew looks at the toddler sitting on the couch and back at his son. “Peter Hale? Your boyfriend, the werewolf, Peter Hale? Your ex-girlfriend’s father, Peter Hale? That Peter Hale?”

Stiles hands a peeled banana to Peter and says, “Does everyone know this? It was supposed to be a secret!”

“Well, then don’t go to dinners in town where the deputies will tell me, and also,” Andrew says, pulling aside the collar of Stiles’ shirt with a grimace, “go easier on the love bites, Stiles. And I’m not going to mention the thing with Malia.”

He looks over at Peter who bites on the banana and Stiles would swear he’s smirking. Which shouldn’t be too surprising, he may look like he’s three, but inside he’s still Peter.

“We don’t talk about that. So hey, I don’t suppose you saved any of my kid-sized clothes, did you?”

Andrew just chuckles and says, “Keep any of them? You didn’t outgrow clothes, you destroyed most of them. So no, there’s nothing that would fit him. How long do you think he’ll stay this way?”

“No idea,” Stiles answers, studying the boy who neatly wipes his hand on a paper napkin.  “The only thing we know so far is don’t piss off fairies.”

“Fairies?” Andrew asks, taking a step back. “I thought they’d be nice and sweet, little wings and stuff like that? They’re not?”

“Umm, they’re small and there’s wings, but the rest of it, nope.  Nasty little beasties with sharp teeth and apparently a quick temper.” He sits next to Peter and uses his sleeve to wipe off Peter’s mouth. “Nothing is ever nice and sweet around here.”

Peter leans towards him and pats Stiles on the cheek. Then he says, “I have to pee.”

“Great! Good! I hope you telling me means that you’re already toilet trained, because otherwise, when you’re back to you, it might really be the relationship killer.”

“It’s a good sign that he told you, get him to the bathroom, there’s usually not a lot of time,” Andrew says, pointing to the stairs. As Stiles picks the boy up and takes the stairs two at a time, Andrew calls, “You may have to hold him so he’s tall enough to hit the toilet.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles whines from the upstairs bathroom.

“Maybe there’s a stool in the garage,” Andrew mutters to himself, as he sits in his arm chair. The next few days could be interesting. Hopefully, it’s only a few days. Peter Fucking Hale.

 

“Okay, that wasn’t as horrible as expected,” Stiles says, following Peter down the stairs. Peter’s slow, carefully putting both feet on each stair before he continues, a hand going from rail to rail. Half way down, he sighs loudly and throws a look over his shoulder. “Sorry, but if you don’t want me to carry you, this is the only option.”

“You were pretty independent as a toddler, too,” Andrew tells him. “Your mom would try to put clothes out for you and half the time you rejected her options.”

“Well, I think that’s probably next, a couple of days’ worth of clothes.” Stiles sits next to Peter on the sofa, and gently tugs down the t-shirt so that he’s slightly more covered. “Good thing I have his credit card, we can take a trip to Target!”

Peter looks over at him and shakes his head, light brown curls bouncing around his ears. “Macy’s.”

“God, that really is Peter in there, isn’t it.”

Peter smiles, flashing yellow eyes at them both.

“That’s gonna take a little bit to get used to,” Stiles says and grabs his phone to make a few phone calls.

 

Because it’s frowned upon to take a child shopping who isn’t wearing pants, their first stop is pick up something that might fit mini-Peter. Stiles manages to put together an acceptable outfit by combining a small shirt from Kira, tiny shorts (pinned in the back) from Erica and slightly large flip flops from one of Boyd’s relatives, left over from a sleepover sometime long ago. Peter doesn’t look happy about any of the make-shift outfit, but Stiles explains he needs to be wearing _something_ to go to Macy’s or else someone will call child protective services and no one wants that.

 

“Okay, we’re not expecting this situation,” Stiles waves his hand between the two of them, “to last long. Meaning you in your current tiny state. So let’s just grab a couple of things and get out of here.” Stiles has Peter back on his hip, which makes traveling much faster than letting Peter try to navigate the crowded mall on his teeny-tiny legs.

They find the children’s section after a few wrong turns (“I’ve never even been on this floor!”) and Stiles sets Peter down so he can pick out some things on his own. Tiny Peter doesn’t look impressed by the clothes offered, walking past the displays that he can barely see. “Jeans and shirts?” he finally asks Stiles.

“Sure, jeans shouldn’t be hard,” Stiles tells him, pointing to a table a few feet away.

“Hi, can I help you find anything?” The clerk is young and attractive and Stiles can feel Peter bristle and he quickly scoops him up.

“Yes, thank you. My nephew is staying with me, unexpectedly, and needs clothes for a few days,” Stiles says, hoping there’s not a lot more questions.

“What sort of things?” the man asks, smiling at Stiles and basically ignoring Peter.  Bad move.

“Well, he needs everything. It was _unexpected_.” Stiles shifts his eyes to Peter and hope the clerk thinks there was some huge family catastrophe that shouldn’t be discussed in front of young ears.

“Okay, let’s get you a bit of everything then,” he says and finally smiles at Peter. “Do you have a favorite color?”

Peter glares at him and says, “Red.”

“That’s right,” Stiles says, laughing, and wincing as Peter’s claws sink into his leg. “Let’s find you a few shirts.” He turns to the clerk, who seems to have dollar signs in his eyes – yes, they work on commission. “Shirts, pants, underwear… everything.”

He follows Peter and they find some jeans that look acceptable and Stiles also grabs a couple of pairs of shorts that look like they’ll fit. Most of the t-shirts have some type of graphic on them and none have v-necks, which is probably a good thing.  Stiles carries an armful of items into the fitting room and stays outside while Peter tries things on. Thankfully, he is able to do up buttons and zippers and all Stiles has to do is wait outside the curtain and catch things as Peter throws them outside the cubicle.

Peter finally comes out with an armful of jeans and a few shirts, including a sweatshirt and tiny cardigan. “I need more jeans.”

“How long do you think you’re gonna be like this?” Stiles asks him, looking at the assortment he’s picked out. It’s more clothes than Stiles buys for himself in a year.

“I need more jeans,” Peter says again and Stiles sees his lower lip start to quiver. He might be big bad-ass Peter, but right now, his three year old body’s getting tired and Stiles is pretty sure that won’t be pretty.  “And pajammies.”

Stiles tries to remember this isn’t fun for Peter either, and he stays as calm as possible when he says, “Really? I’m not saying you should sleep nude, cause, ew. But what’s wrong with boxers and a t-shirt? We’re gonna fix this and you’re going to have all this stuff that you don’t need and ….”

“Pajamas!” Peter says and actually stamps his foot.

“Okay, pajamas it is,” Stiles says. It shouldn’t be cute, but dammit, it is. Kind of.

The clerk pokes his head in the dressing room area and asks, “How are you doing? Can I get you any different sizes?”

“Yeah, how about 5’ 10” and 175 pounds?” he mutters and watches Peter pout. “You get back into your other clothes and we’ll find more jeans and jammies for you. Also underwear. It’s hot when you’re your age going commando, it’s creepy when you’re three or whatever you are.”

Peter tugs the curtain to the dressing room shut and Stiles gets the clerk’s attention. “Okay, we have a few more things to get, can you please go find a couple of packs of socks and, uh, underwear and another pair of jeans?”

The clerk smiles, probably thinking of his next paycheck, and says, “Certainly, and I’ll put these things on the counter for you.”

There’s a small display of tiny shoes that makes Stiles want to coo and makes Peter’s eyes flash. “I’m sorry, but they don’t make tiny Italian boots or oxfords or whatever it is you want. You get a pair of sneakers with Velcro and that’s your option,” Stiles says to Peter, who’s frowning at the display, growling quietly. “Actually, you do have options. Spiderman or Iron Man. Pick one.”

Peter points at the Spiderman shoes and turns to Stiles and says, “Slippers, too.”

Stiles slaps himself on the forehead and says, “Seriously? Fine, it’s your money. Let’s get you slippers and a tiny robe and you can look like a miniature Hugh Hefner.”

They find slippers next to the display of pajamas. Stiles picks up Peter, so he can look at the assortment of PJs. There’s superheroes, and puppies and dinosaurs and others with cute pictures and Peter turns to him, and whines, “Blue stripes? I want blue stripes!”

“Honey, they don’t have any,” Stiles whines back. “Something else? I sleep in a Batman t-shirt, do you want Batman pajamas?”

Peter nods and Stiles grabs the right package and the slippers. “I think this should do you for a few days and remember, we can do laundry. Let me know if you need anything else, your majesty.”

After they check out and Stiles has all the bags gathered, he checks his watch and sees that it’s past seven. Peter’s been little for about half the day and Stiles realizes he’s hungry and Peter must be, too.

“Peter, do you want to go to the food court and get something?” Stiles asks. He’s holding Peter’s hand as they walk. It’s something that adult Peter won’t do, but it’s hard to look at the tiny boy next to him and think of the Peter who’s his not-so-secret sex buddy.

Peter shakes his head and says, “Tired, wanna go home.”

“Okay, you want to go to your apartment or to my house?”

“My house?” Peter answers and speeds up a little to walk closer to Stiles.

“That’s a good idea, I know you have food there and you’ll probably be happier in your own bed,” Stiles says, looking down at what appears to be a cute, tired little boy, starting to lag behind. “Do you need me to carry you? We’ve been walking a lot.”

Peter shrugs and stops, looking around the mall at the crowd of people walking around them. Finally he nods and holds up his arms, “Please.”

Stiles bends down and picks him up, settling tiny Peter on his hip. He rearranges the bags, including giving one to Peter to hold. “You’re kind of mellow when you’re tired. It’s a nice change.”

Peter just rests his head on Stiles’ shoulder, letting himself be carried to the car where he settles into the back seat, in the car seat borrowed from one of the pack. He’s asleep before they get home.

 

Stiles has a key to Peter’s apartment. He decided not to give it too much thought when Peter gave it to him, accepting the casual way Peter offered it. 

“Here, you may as well have this, it’ll keep me from having to get off the sofa to let you in,” Peter says, handing Stiles the key to his building and his apartment, both on a tidy metal key-ring.

“Oh. Oh, okay,” Stiles says, glancing at them before he shoves them into his pocket. “Cool, thanks.”

Peter raises an eyebrow and says, “That doesn’t mean you should just invite yourself over whenever you want.”

“Of course not,” Stiles replies. He passes Peter, moving towards the fridge to get a bottle of Coke that Peter now keeps on hand for him. 

The older man takes Stiles’ elbow and pulls him close. “I’m trusting you with a lot,” Peter whispers, biting Stiles’ earlobe, feeling him shudder.

“I know,” Stiles answers, tilting his head and relaxing into Peter’s arms. “You know you can trust me.”

 

Stiles lets them in and sets Peter on the floor, taking the bags from him. “I guess I’ll put these in your room? Do you have an empty drawer or… I dunno.”

Peter follows Stiles and attempts to tug on a drawer handle that’s close to his height. “Put stuff in here.”

“Okay, you’re still the boss, I guess,” Stiles says, opening the drawer and bending down to look at the selection of sweaters in two tidy stacks. “I guess I’ll move these to the closet until you’re back to yourself. All your stuff’ll probably fit in here. Good enough for however long it’ll take to get you back to normal.”

The boy (man – he’s Peter) nods and watches Stiles move clothes to the top of dresser, making room for all the new belongings which barely fill the drawer. While there’s a lot of stuff, it’s all cute and tiny.

“Here, we’ll leave your PJs and stuff on the end of the bed. Do you want to change first or eat something?”

“Hungry.” He steps towards his bed and pets the pajamas, moving the slippers off to the side. “They’re small,” he says, sniffing, not looking at Stiles.

“Yeah. Well, right now, you’re kinda small, too.” Stiles puts a hand on Peter’s shoulder, gently turning him away from the bed, back towards the living room. “Let’s get some food.”

 

The kitchen is well stocked, as usual. Peter often cooks when they eat in, although Stiles has made them a meal on occasion. It’s more Peter’s need for control than anything about his special cooking skills.  “Let’s see what you have,” Stiles says, opening the fridge and looking inside. “Anything in particular you want?” he asks, looking for what’s available.

“Spaghetti?”

“Sure, I think we can do that, you usually have stuff.” Stiles reaches into the fridge and pulls out a package, reading the label, “Hot Italian sausage. I want to make a joke, but it seems like really bad timing. Hot? Do you have Peter’s taste or a four year old’s taste?”

Peter shrugs again and continues to stare at Stiles.

“Sauce? I know you usually make your own, what else you got?” Stiles goes to the pantry and looks through cans and boxes and finally pulls out a jar. “Ah ha! You actually have a jar of sauce and it’s… Red pepper and truffle.” He looks at Peter and says, “I’m thinking maybe something else, what do you think?”

“’Kay. I’m hungry, Stiles.”

Blowing out a breath, Stiles turns back to Peter and says, “Okay, here’s an idea. Scrambled eggs with cheese on toast. That’s what my mom used to make for me when I wasn’t feeling good and I think that’s a good dinner. And you know I make good eggs.” He smiles at Peter and thinks of mornings when he’s been in Peter’s boxers, putting together something quick for breakfast in bed.

“Eggs are good,” Peter answers. “Fried?”

“I can do that,” Stiles answers, smiling as he reaches into the cabinet for his favorite pan. “But I’m telling you, you won’t be able to eat it folded over on the toast like my mom used to.”

“My mother did fried,” Peter whispers. “For me and Talia. Fried eggs on toast.”

Stiles freezes, half in the fridge, pulling out the eggs. They don’t talk a lot about the time before the fire and certainly not what sounds like it could be a happy memory from childhood. “Sure, fried sounds good. Get out the bread, okay?”

Peter moves to the cabinet where the bread is and stares up at it, heaving a sigh. Then he turns and goes to sit at the dining room table, back turned to Stiles.  “Cheese is good, though. Thank you, Stiles.”

He scrubs a hand through his hair and takes another breath, looking at what appears to be a tired, depressed little boy sitting at the table. “Okay, just a couple of minutes, Peter, and we’ll have something to eat and be done with today.”

At the table, Peter nods, and then rests his head on his arms.

 

“I don’t know about you, but it’s been a long day and frankly I’m ready for bed.” Stiles stands and points to Peter’s room.  “Please tell me you don’t need help putting on your pajamas.”

It’s admirable that even as small as he is, Peter’s eye-roll is still perfect.

“You okay in there?” Stiles asks after a couple of minutes.

There’s no response and Stiles goes into the room where Peter’s taking the tags off the clothing using his tiny, but very sharp, claws. “Need help?”

“No,” Peter replies and then he’s suddenly naked.

Tiny and naked and Stiles doesn’t know if he should turn away or laugh or just go with it. Wolves doesn’t have a lot of modesty and he’s become used to seeing them naked. And other than Erica who punched him when he looked at her (accidentally!) no one seems to notice any more. But this is Peter, who is his boyfriend, probably, and Stiles isn’t sure if it’s possible for this to get more awkward.

Peter uses his claws to pull himself on to the bed and quickly scurries under the covers. “Come to bed,” he orders and pats the bed next to him.

“Maybe I should just sleep in the other room,” Stiles says, gesturing over his shoulder to the guest room down the hall. “Let you have your own space, don’t want to crowd you…”

“Please?” Peter asks and dammit, he’s doing the thing where his lower lip’s trembling and Stiles can’t resist that.

He sits on the side of the bed, and pats Peter’s arm. “Okay, give me a minute.” He turns his back and strips down to boxers and a t-shirt and slips under the covers into his side of the bed. “You okay? Can you go to sleep now?”

There’s a small sniffle and then Peter’s next to him, pulling Stiles’ arm so he can rest his head on Stiles’ shoulder.

“This is good,” Stiles says, patting Peter on the back. He feels incredibly fragile and Stiles tries not to panic that he’s somehow become responsible for this impossibly little person, who could probably rip him to shreds. At least from the thighs down. “We’ll just cuddle like this until you fall asleep.”

Peter nods against him and after a moment, he whispers, “I’m scared.”

Stiles nods in the dark, and kisses Peter’s head. He still smells like Peter, traces of aftershave that he put on this morning on him and on their shared pillow. “I know, me too.  But it’ll be okay, we’ll get it fixed and get everything back to normal.”

They’re both exhausted and asleep before there’s more conversation.

 

The next day, Scott and Derek check in by phone and several texts. They know the fairies are still in the preserve, but haven’t been able to locate them.  

“Who’s looking for them? Are you in the right place?” Stiles asks Derek and he can practically hear the eye roll.

“Of course we’re in the right place, we can smell them and sometimes we think we hear them. But they’re fairies, if they don’t want to be found, they’re not found.”

Stiles sighs and sits at the kitchen counter, pulling a book they’ve been studying towards him. “Okay. I guess it’s good they’re not gone.”

“They’re not gone,” Derek states and there’s really no arguing with him. “What are you guys doing, is Peter okay?”

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.  We’ve been trying to research for anything about fairies. I swear I could pass a quiz on them now.” Stiles shuts the book and adds it to the stack on the counter. “And right now, Peter’s taking a nap.”

“A nap?” Derek asks, with a smirk in his voice.

And Stiles feels a little pissed off and a little protective, okay? “Yeah. Because when he’s awake and feeling good, he’s Peter with Peter’s brains and snark and everything else. But he’s also this little toddler guy and he gets tired and he’s depressed and he needs naps. Is that okay with you, Derek?”

Derek’s silent for a long minute and his voice is quiet when he finally talks. “Sorry. You’re right, I’m sure. I mean, you’re the one who’s there so…  Sorry. And thanks for taking care of him.”

Stiles nods even though Derek can’t see him and says, “Of course. But figure out how to get Peter back.”

 

The first time they went to bed together was after a marathon research session. They’re at Peter’s apartment, trying to find a way to stop a wendigo. Stop it without killing it, according to Scott, because he’s always been the optimist. A naïve optimist.

After it chases them through the high school, Stiles and Peter are relegated to the sideline to do the research.  Stiles, because he’s a human, of course. And Peter, because he really doesn’t give a shit if anyone is attacked by the wendigo, and refuses to go fight in the preserve. Especially since Scott refuses to just kill the damn thing.

“There’s nothing in here about controlling a wendigo!” Stiles yells, flipping through pages in one of Peter’s book.

“Of course not. One doesn’t control a wendigo; one kills it.” Peter yawns and stretches, leaning back in his chair. “You don’t seem happy, Stiles. Didn’t you want to spend time with your pack?”

“My thought,” Stiles says, “was to spend my first college break sleeping, spending time with my dad and yes, hanging out with friends.” He pulls another book towards him, flipping to the page that Peter marked earlier. “Fucking high school should be torn down. It’s a magnet for evil. Evil.”

“It could be. This whole town is a shit hole,” Peter replies, shrugging as though it’s no big deal at all. “We’re not going to find what the boy king is looking for. There’s no way to ‘cure’ a wendigo. You don’t just ask them to leave.”

“Did we look at everything? I need to tell Scott that we looked at absolutely all options.”

“It’s interesting that he had no qualms about killing me, once upon a time. He would have, except Derek jumped in to do it himself.” Peter sounds calm and looks only mildly interested, as though he’s talking about the weather or where to go for lunch.

“Yeah, well, don’t forget you were bat shit crazy at the time. Killing you was a joint project,” Stiles tells him, barely looking up.

“I suppose.” Peter pulls the stack of books towards him, and flips open to a page they marked earlier. “Kill it by cutting off its head.” He opens the second and third, saying, “Cut off its head. Burn it.” He pulls the one Stiles is reading towards him and taps the page. “Cut off its head or burn it. Two options.”

Peter turns the laptop towards Stiles and starts clicking tabs at the top. “Here’s more – burn it, cut off its head, something new – cut out its heart, and back to burning it.”

“Jesus Christ, do you never shut your mouth?” Stiles asks, slamming the books in front of him shut.

“Why, do you have a better use for my mouth?” Peter asks, leaning forward with a smirk.

He can’t really explain why, but Stiles closes the distance between them, mashing their mouths together. It’s awkward and their noses bash together and their teeth click. He’s about to pull away when Peter cups the back of his neck with a warm, large hand holding him close. He gives them a little room and softens the kiss just the right amount. Not too hard or soft. Firm enough, but still gentle. Peter licks against his lips and when he sucks Stiles’ tongue into his mouth, Stiles can’t keep from whimpering. He feels Peter smile against him, nipping his bottom lip as he breaks the kiss.

“Well that was new,” Stiles whispers.

“Hmm, you started it,” Peter whispers back, rubbing his cheek against Stiles’.

_He’s scenting me_ , Stiles thinks and grins, turning his head to kiss Peter again. “Gonna keep doing it, too, since I don’t think you mind. We should go somewhere more comfortable though.”

“Umm,” Peter says, standing and starting to lead Stiles into the living room without breaking contact. “Sofa here.”

“Nooo,” Stiles answers, pushing past the living room. “Bedroom has a bed.”

Peter pulls away and hold Stiles by both arms, studying him, eyes flashing bright blue. “You’re sure?  I’m not pushing you, it’s…”

“I’m sure, come on, wolf.” Stiles backs into the bedroom. Peter drops his hands to Stiles’ ass, and growls as Stiles laughs, wrapping his legs around Peter’s waist.

 

Later that evening, Stiles sends a text to Scott: “We’ve examined every possibility, turned over every rock at least once. All options have been thoroughly reviewed.  Also, you’ll need to cut the wendigo’s head off.”

 

On day three of baby Peter, Derek comes over to provide an update, with Cora and Scott tagging along.

“Nothing to report,” Derek says and shrugs, flopping down on the couch next to Peter. 

“Did you even look?” Peter asks, glaring at his nephew. He flashes his eyes and they’re yellow, not blue, making Derek sit back.

“Yes, Peter, we looked,” Cora answers. “We could smell they were in their normal area in the preserve, and we waited and called them, and left them gifts, but nothing.”

Stiles steps forward, holding up a hand. “Wait, their normal area? Fairies have a normal area in the preserve?”

Scott shrugs and says, “Yeah, I didn’t know that either, but apparently so.”

“Fairies stick to one area,” Peter says and turns a glare to Stiles. It’s only a little scary and mostly cute. “You read that.”

“How long have they been there? Apparently, they’re dangerous, can we have them fix Peter and then kick them out?”

Cora shrugs and sits on the couch next to Peter, patting him on the shoulder. “They’ve been in the preserve as long as I can remember; I know Mom used to talk about visiting them when she was a girl. And she said Peter used to hang out there a lot when he was a kid. Well, the first time he was a kid.”

“So you know them? Or are they different fairies?” Scott asks Peter, who turns away from him, snorting quietly. “If they knew you, or at least your family, why’d they do this? Did you piss them off?”

Peter flashes his eyes again and then slips off the couch, moving to stand next to Stiles. “I’m tired,” he whines.

Stiles checks the time and sighs, “I swear, you nap more often than I do. Okay, we’re done here, everyone out, Peter needs his sleep.”

“Now?” Cora asks, looking at her watch. “It’s three in the afternoon.”

“Hey, he’s had a long and stressful day. I burnt his grilled cheese earlier and had to make another one and now you guys come over with no good news. So yeah, maybe we’ll both take a nap and you guys can all leave.” Stiles raises an eyebrow and points to the door. Peter leans his head against Stiles’ thigh and his smirk is very much the one the pack is used to.

“Bye,” he says and takes ahold of Stiles’ hand. “I’m tired,” he repeats and pulls Stiles out of the room, assuming that orders will be followed and everyone will leave.

 

“Hey, Derek, hey, it’s me.”

There’s something in Stiles’ voice that makes Derek sit up, and shove his shoes on. “Yes, Stiles, what’s wrong?”

“Umm, I don’t suppose there’s any chance that Peter’s made his way to your house? Maybe he felt like cuddling with his family?” Stiles asks.

“No, of course not. You’re sure he’s not there?” Derek’s already out the door, thumping his way down the stairs.

“He’s not here,” Stiles answers and Derek can hear the near hysteria in his voice. “I had one job and fucked it up. I checked the lobby and the health center and he’s not there. There’s just a stack of his tiny pajamas and his tiny slippers and his itty-bitty Hugh Hefner robe and no Peter.”

“We’ll find him, Stiles, don’t worry. We know where he went…”

Stiles gulps, and says, “Yeah, he went to the preserve.”

 

The pack meets at the entrance of the preserve, the wolves shifting back to human as they arrive.

“Okay, okay. So no one saw a small child running towards here, right?” Stiles asks, looking around.

“No, but he probably shifted to his wolf form; it would be less obvious,” Derek says. “Anyone see him, it would just be a little dog running.”

“He can shift, even with the…” Erica starts, gesturing towards the ground, to Peter’s current height.

“Yeah, he should be able to,” Cora answers. “We can shift to the full wolf form when we’re pretty little.”

Stiles nods and says, “I’ve seen him, he can do the wolf-thing. Doesn’t do the beta shift thing for some reason. Maybe that’s harder. But anyway, so we’re looking for a little gray and white wolf?”

Derek nods. “That’s my guess. So we spread out a bit and make our way to the fairie clearing.”

“There’s a clearing for them?” Isaac asks, tilting his head. “I mean I know we went to the same place a couple of times, but…”

“Yeah, it’s where they always seem to be. Or at least when we were kids and that’s where I can smell them now,” Derek answers, taking the lead with the others following.

“Great, let’s go.” Stiles follows Malia, who at least has been there before. “And don’t forget, they’re magic and they’re touchy and they have sharp little teeth.”

“This is not how I pictured my break,” Erica says, but she follows Boyd and Isaac, moving towards the left so they can cover more territory on their way to the clearing where the fairies should be.

When they get near the spot, Derek and Scott each hold up a hand, stopping everyone from rushing forward. The wolves look at each other, cocking their heads and Stiles whispers, “What? What’s going on?” And then he hears the little growls and barks from in front of them.

They enter the clearing and Peter’s there, in his wolf form. He’s a little pup, but Stiles recognizes him, gray with a white face and bib. As an adult wolf, he’s huge and frankly a little scary, but as a pup, running around the clearing, rolling in the grass and snapping at the lights flashing around him, he’s fluffy and adorable. The pack watches as the wolf rolls on his back, feet flapping in the air while he nips at the fairies flitting around his head.

Stiles can see over a dozen lights and remembers what the books said about how to see the fairies. So he relaxes his gaze, letting his eyes half close. He doesn’t _try_ to see them, taking a breath and letting his vision go almost blurry.

Then he can see the fairies flying around them - with pastel bodies and hair, both males and females. A girl with pink skin and light blue hair flits by, showing tiny sharp teeth as she flies by his face. There’s a male who’s light green with darker green hair, including a tiny goatee. A chubby girl fairie, holding hands with another girl, and she tickles Peter’s paws and shoots up into the trees when he swats at them.

As they circle the pack, Stiles can hear whispers – _ask remember want wish_

The rest of the pack notices how Stiles is watching them and mirror him, frozen in place, watching the fairies fly around, following their movement with their eyes, listening to the voices - _remember want_

“Oh my god, they’re beautiful,” Allison whispers and moves closer to Isaac, taking his hand. The fairies notice and circle the couple for a moment and Peter takes the opportunity to sit up and shake the grass off his coat.

“Peter, we were worried,” Stiles says, taking a step towards him. Peter shifts from his wolf form and for a moment, Stiles hopes the spell will be over. But he’s still a child.

The fairies fly up and settle in the lower branches of a tree above them, joined by others, so the tree is lit up like it’s Christmas and there’s still the voices saying  - _want ask remember_

“While I’m glad you’re okay, I wish you were, well, you again. So you can tell us what they obviously want you to say,” Stiles says, with a hand on Peter’s head.

“Yes, respectfully, we’d appreciate having Peter, our packmate, back to normal,” Derek announces to the lights in the tree.

Kira nudges Scott in his side and he quickly says, “Yes, please. We’d really like that. If it’s not too much trouble. Please?”

Lights fly from the tree and soon there’s fairies on Peter’s shoulders and on his head. They seem to grab his skin and they slowly fly upward and suddenly Peter’s back to normal as though they stretched him back to his regular self. Stiles looks though half closed lids and watches the fairies whirl through the air as they go back in to the tree, still whispering _wish want home_.  There’s a rather handsome male with his purple hair in a bun who whips past Stiles’ face, and tugs his hair before he joins the others in the tree. 

It could be weird hugging Peter in front of everyone when he’s naked, but the wolves don’t seem to care and he’s so happy to see him back that Stiles can’t care either. He wraps his arms around the older man, and smiles as Peter inhales the scent of his neck. “So umm, I’m getting that you know these fairies and I think they think you have something you should be saying?” Stiles says, as he moves back a step.

Peter nods, running a hand through his hair, straightening it up and pulling out a piece of grass and a bit of leaf left from his earlier frolic. He clears his throat and the voices from the trees whisper _ask want._

“They reminded me, rather forcefully, of some things true for children,” he says and pauses, looking up into the tree overhead. The lights flash and they hear _wish ask home._

“Children ask for things they want, they’re usually not afraid to at least ask. Maybe older, they’ll think the possibility of getting a no for an answer, but they’ll ask. They say what they want.”

“What do you want, Peter? I’m going to assume you’re _not_ going to say you want to be an alpha again,” Derek says, glancing at Scott, whose eyes flash red behind Peter’s back.

He turns to Derek, swallowing hard before he states, “I want…I want to rebuild the house. Not where the old one was, that should be torn down. But I want to rebuild our home for our family and pack.” He looks around the clearing at the wolves and others standing around, noting everyone is there. Yes, they probably came to support Stiles or Scott, but they’re there. “For our family to live in. Your loft is…it’s not a home, Derek, it’s just where you live. Cora should be able to have a home, like the one we grew up in. That’s what I want.”

Cora takes a step closer to Derek, looking at him as a multitude of expressions cross his face. “I’d like that. I’d like to have a place with a big living room and a dining room table that everyone can sit at during the holidays.”

Derek nods, swallowing loudly and says, “Yeah. Yeah, I’d like that, too.  Not where the house was…”

“No,” Peter says quickly, shaking his head. “There’s plenty of room in the preserve, though. For a house big enough for anyone in the pack who wants to be there. I know it’s not the Hale pack, of course, but…”

“I’d like a room there,” Erica says. She takes Boyd’s hand and steps towards them and Boyd nods. “We’d like a room, for after college. I mean, I can see living here, still in Beacon Hills, but not with my parents.”

Malia shrugs and looks up at the tree, still twinkling with fairies. “Me, too. I don’t want to be away from my Dad permanently, but, yeah. I could see being in the pack house.”

Alison gives Isaac a nudge and he says, “I’d like a room anywhere. No offense to Mrs. McCall, but she probably doesn’t want me there forever.”

“We could work out rooms when we’re working on blue prints,” Derek says and he gives one of his rare, true smiles. “We’d want to be sure there’s extra room, in case there’s more pack joining or kids or whatever.”

“Kids?” Cora asks, and nudges him, hard. “You got a secret we should know about?”

He snorts and says, “No, I was thinking of you.”

The group chatters for a minute and Derek even gives Peter a quick, one-armed hug, scenting him quickly before he moves back to discuss where in the preserve might be a good place and how to find an architect.

“That’s it? That’s all you want?” Stiles asks and then smiles as one of the fairies throws a pinecone from the tree, narrowly missing Peter’s head. _Ask_.

Peter turns and snarls at the tree, then turns to Stiles and takes both of his hands in his own. “I would like you to live there, too. After college or whatever, but I’d like you there. As my spouse, as my mate.”

“We’re supposed to be secretly dating. Officially we haven’t even told anyone about us,” Stiles whispers.

Isaac calls out, “Yeah, who didn’t know? Anyone?”

“You’re horrible at keeping secrets,” Lydia responds, and glances at Scott before she says, “I am your best friend and you didn’t officially tell me, but of course I knew. I can’t smell you, thank god, but everyone knows.  You’re happy, Stiles. He’s horrible and dangerous and can’t be trusted, but he makes you happy.”

Stiles snorts and rubs his eyes, which suddenly seem a little watery. “Yeah. You are all of that and yeah, you make me happy.”

“So… yes?” Peter asks, tilting Stiles head up to look at him “Is that a yes?”

“Yes. That’s a yes.” Before they can fully embrace again, the fairies zip out of the tree, flying quick circles over everyone’s head. The pack stops to watch them, and Stiles looks around, as they smile, holding up their hands as the fairies fly by, brushing against them. He buries his face in Peter’s neck and whispers, “Yes, absolutely positively yes.”

 

Later

Grandma Stilinski pats Stiles on his knee and uses her champagne flute to point across the yard. “That one, the pretty one with the hair – is he a werewolf?”

“Yes, Nana, Isaac’s a werewolf and so is his wife,” Stiles answers, smiling at his grandmother. She’s learned a lot over the past couple of weeks and nothing seems to upset or worry her. “Her name’s Paulette, they met in France.”

“So their baby will be a werewolf?”

Stiles watches Isaac laugh and put an arm around Paulette’s waist, patting her sizable baby-bump. They’re not due for another three months and it’s been fun seeing them decorate the baby’s room on the second floor of the house. “Probably. Maybe. Paulette was born a werewolf, and that increases the odds.”

At that moment, a tiny brown wolf pup runs past them heading towards the woods. Erica hurries after her, hindered by the tall, thin heels on her shoes. “Alice, you get back here, right now, young lady! Don’t you make me shift, I just got my hair right!”

Before Alice gets to the woods, a flock of fairies swoop in, appearing as twinkling lights and quiet hisses turning her back towards her mother. Erica scoops her up and calls, “Thanks, guys!” and then sits next to Stiles’ grandmother, hand on her chest to catch her breath.

“Here, honey, you look like you need a sip,” Nana says, holding her half empty glass out to Erica.

She looks at it, sighs and shakes her head. “No, but thank you.  I’m trying to drink my weight in horchata.”

“Erica? Are you?” Stiles asks and looks down at her flat stomach.

She smiles and scratches Alice’s back, calming the wiggling pup down. “Yup, three months next week, so I think it’s okay to tell everyone.”

“And she can’t have a glass of champagne to celebrate?” Nana asks, looking at Stiles. “I smoked when I was pregnant with your father and we celebrated the news with a shot of vodka. I guess you don’t do that anymore?”

“No, we try not to,” Erica answers, giving Stiles a secret smile. “When we decided to try for another, I stopped drinking. And now I’ll have a new one to go along with Miss Alice here.” Erica holds Alice up in front of her face, flashing her eyes at the girl. “You said you wanted to be a flower girl, which you knew meant the pretty dress. So can I get you dressed now, please?”

“Or you could maybe take the flower crown and tie it around her neck? She doesn’t have to do much more than look pretty, does she?” Stiles asks, waiting for Erica to snap at him.

Erica sighs as she stands, tucking her daughter under her arm. “That’s an option, but I’m pretty sure your dad and Melissa were hoping for an actual little girl. Now that she’s run herself silly, maybe she’ll cooperate.” She leans down and kisses both on their foreheads, saying, “Nice to see you again, Nana S. Talk with you after the ceremony.”

Nana points to Boyd, who’s with Derek, pouring champagne for the crowd and says, “She’s married to that black boy over there, isn’t she? They’ll have such pretty mocha colored children.”

Stiles splutters for a second and whispers at her, “Nana, you can’t say stuff like that, it’s…”

“What? You don’t think they’ll have pretty children? Mscislaw, that’s rude,” she says, looking at him crossly.

“Yes, Mscislaw, that’s rude. Do you want to tell Boyd his children aren’t pretty?” Peter asks, slipping into the chair next to Stiles.

Stiles looks over at Boyd, who stands next to Derek, both with their arms crossed over their chests, glaring at Stiles. “Alice is beautiful and of course their new baby - congratulations by the way – will also be beautiful.”

Boyd nods and grins, going back to serving champagne to the wedding guests as fast as Derek can pour.

“Nana, can I top off your glass?” Peter asks, holding up a bottle that he’s liberated for their private party. He refills Stiles’ glass and leans forward to pour more for Nana, who smiles and pats his knee.

“I like this one, Mscislaw, he takes care of you.” Nana nods her approval at Peter, who just grins. “So he and the dark scowly ones are all born werewolves?”

“Yes, Peter is Derek and Cora’s Uncle. And they’re all born werewolves,” Stiles answers and turns, kissing Peter quickly on the lips, champagne making him bold in front of his grandmother. No comment about Malia, that's too confusing.

“And everyone lives in the big house?” she asks, turning to look at the restored, three-story house behind them.

“Well, Dad and Melissa won’t, but yeah a lot of the pack – that’s all the wolves and with wolves – do.”

“And your friend, Scott, he’s the head wolf? I remember he was such a weird child,” Nana says, looking over at Scott, who’s holding hands with Kira and Allison. “Is that why he has two girlfriends? Because he’s the head wolf?”

Scott glances over at Stiles and grins. Telling Nana that wolves have exceptional hearing has done absolutely nothing to encourage her to whisper.

“It’s called the alpha, and yes, he’s the head of the pack,” Peter explains, wrapping his arm over Stiles’ shoulder. “And I’m not sure why he has two girlfriends. Honestly, I’m not sure why he has even one.”

Scott flashes his eyes at Peter, but he’s still grinning and Peter of course, just raises his glass to the alpha.

“Now he’s Mexican and he’s got one white girl and one Oriental girl. Is that allowed with wolves?” Nana asks, holding her glass out for Peter to refill it. “Who has the children?”

Stiles moans and rubs hides his face in his face while Peter says, “Kira’s mother is Japanese and her father is Korean. If they decide to have children, it’ll be up to them to decide. They may not have any for all we know.”

“I don’t understand,” Nana says, sighing into her champagne. “I mean I understand Andrew and Melissa not having children, they’re both too old.” She turns and looks at Peter and says, “You two will be good parents when you bring the baby home, I’m sure of that.”

Stiles looks at Peter and raises an eyebrow. “Something you want to share, Peter?”

“I was hoping to discuss this with you in private,” Peter says, kissing Stiles’ temple. “Scott was advised of a cub who’s lost his parents. He thought of you and unfortunately for him, I’m part of the package.”

“What…a child? How old? When?”

“A little boy, he’s about four so you’ll avoid all the diapers and toilet training and things,” Nana jumps in, taking Stiles’ hand. “You should do it, babies make families stronger. And there’s plenty of room in the house, right? And Peter has a lot of money.”

Three fairies fly past them and Stiles hears them singing _want want child home_.

“I don’t know if they’re talking to you or me,” he confesses, voice breaking. “They’re such busy-bodies.”

Peter wraps him in a hug, their faces buried in each other’s necks, calming themselves down with the scent of mate and security and family and love. “We don’t have to decide now, but we do need to decide soon. If it’s not ideal for us, Deaton will need to tell the boy’s pack so they can look elsewhere.”

“I want him,” Stiles whispers, hand on Peter’s cheek. “I didn’t think we’d have a child, and I got used to that, but I want him. I want him for us, Peter.”

Peter smiles and kisses him while Nana smiles and pats his shoulder. Surprisingly, she turns away, giving them some privacy.

Scott has no boundaries of course, and in the next second, Stiles is pulled to his feet and wrapped in a back-pounding hug that threatens to break his ribs. “Dude! We’re gonna be brothers and I’m gonna be your kid’s Uncle! That’s awesome.”

Kira and Allison kiss him as well and Kira risks kissing Peter’s cheek as well. Allison is allowed to pat his shoulder, saying “Congratulations, you two.”

Before anyone else can grab them, the violinist starts to play Vivaldi’s Spring and Allison says, “Come on, that’s our queue to get into place. There’s going to be a wedding!”

“We need to get into place, Nana.  See you after the ceremony!” Stiles kisses Nana’s head and takes Peter’s hand to join the groomsmen for the wedding.

“Hey, I love you,” he whispers to Peter.

“Love you, too,” Peter whispers back, as the fairies position themselves in the trees to provide the extra light as the wedding ceremony starts.


End file.
